In Living Memory
by keeptheotherone
Summary: A collection of one-shots in honor of the twentieth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. A joint project with MandyinKC.
1. Bill Weasley

A/N: Y'all are in for a treat! This is a joint project with MandyinKC. We are both posting today and will then alternate a total of seven chapters each, beginning tomorrow, so that means two weeks of daily updates! Be sure to head over to her profile and follow _Reflections_.

There are so many references to my other fics throughout this one that I won't be listing them out each time, but if you have a question or aren't sure where to go to read more about something, just ask!

My regular beta is cruising the Caribbean at the moment, not to mention busy as MOH planning the wedding of our BFF. Special thanks to Arnel63 for jumping in so effectively!

* * *

 _May 2, 1999_

Bill slid out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake his wife at four in the morning. Fleur had insisted she would get up with him, but there was no reason she needed to get up in the middle of the night. He, on the other hand, was Head of Gryffindor House and responsible for getting a couple hundred teens and preteens up, dressed, and down to the lake before the memorial service started at dawn. In northern Scotland. In May.

But it wasn't the time or the weather that he was really dreading; today was the one-year anniversary of Fred's death.

The Battle of Hogwarts meant so many things to different people: fear, terror, pain, loss, victory, triumph, grief, peace, relief … just thinking about it stirred up his own conflicting memories. The joy of Percy's return. The instant panic upon seeing him carrying Fred's body (Bill had known it was Fred because George was standing right in front of him) into the Great Hall. Remus, and not long after, Tonks being laid out beside him. Harry's apparent death, then resurrection. The utter chaos that followed. The shock of Mum's duel with Bellatrix Lestrange. The instinctive _whoop_! when he realized Voldemort was dead and it was finally over.

Except it wasn't.

If Bill had learned anything in the last eight months of living at Hogwarts, of being teacher, mentor, and confidant to six years' worth of pupils who had experienced Hogwarts during Voldemort's reign, it was that the effects of war didn't end with the fighting. He had actually made a list of Gryffindors who had lost loved ones, worried he would forget to check in today with someone who might be struggling. Not that death was the only suffering the pupils had experienced; managing the inter-house relationships in his N.E.W.T.-level lessons had taken all the negotiating and diplomatic skills he'd developed as the oldest of seven, and then some.

Aaaand, he was back to Fred.

He stood in the silent common room for a minute, taking in its unnatural state of perfect cleanliness and complete silence. He'd never been here with Fred. Charlie and Percy, yes, but the age difference between Bill and the twins had him leaving the castle before they arrived. Percy was the only one of them who'd had time at school with every sibling.

Percy was likely to be battling demons today too, and Charlie still blamed himself for not arriving at the Battle sooner. George … well, no one was sure if George would even show. Ronnie would be here, of course. In fact, Bill realized as he climbed the boys' staircase, Ron might be the one who least needed his attention today. Supported by (and supporting) Harry, distracted by the reunion with Hermione and even Ginny (because no way the friendship between his two youngest siblings would be ignored today, of all days), Ron would probably make it through the ceremony okay. And Ginny he could check in with later, after everyone left. Siblings all accounted for (at least mentally), Bill rapped sharply on the door of the seventh years' dormitory.

()()()()

When Bill returned to the common room, certain that all the boys were at least vertical if not exactly awake, Hermione was presiding over the group of sleepy first- and second-year girls.

"Why do _we_ have to get up while it's still ni—i—ighttime?" one yawned.

"Because the ceremony starts at dawn," Hermione said, encouraging the first two girls in line to move closer to the portrait hole so as to make room for the rest of the house to come downstairs.

Despite it all, Bill bit back a smile. Hermione really could be painfully literal sometimes.

"No, I mean—"

But Hermione had moved on, fussing over other details. Her own way of dealing with the stress and anxiety of the morning, Bill knew, and as his sister's voice echoed down the girls' staircase—

"No, Evelyn, I said _dressed_ and in the common room by 4:45, and slippers don't count!"

He realized he had forgotten a sibling, or as good as … Hermione.

She looked a hell of a lot better than this time last year—clean, well-fed, and wearing robes of good repair. Despite the year of growth since her encounter with Fiendfyre had necessitated a rather dramatic haircut, her hair was shorter than it had been and curled wildly around the Alice band she'd placed to keep it out of her eyes. But her posture was tense, her face drawn, and Bill made a note to make sure she didn't isolate herself completely today. He'd observed her tendency to do so when overwhelmed, both at Shell Cottage last spring and this year at Hogwarts, and today certainly qualified for the young witch.

Evelyn had apparently found her shoes, for here were she and Ginny, pushing their way through the mob of boys trickling down from the staircase on the other side of the room.

Bill left the queuing and the counting to his prefects, waiting patiently beside the portrait hole for them to indicate everyone was ready. He'd spent most of his free time over the last week thinking about what to say this morning, but nothing had sounded right. In the end, he'd decided on the basics.

"We will be walking through the castle directly to the lake," he said. "Professor McGonagall has determined Gryffindor House will lead the procession, so seventh years—" He paused to make eye contact with the back of the room— "Be sure the Hufflepuff first years follow you out of the Entrance Hall. First years—" Bill smiled at the kids right in front of him. It had taken some time, but the gruesome drawing of his scars when he did so no longer frightened them. "You're going to be the first seated. Take the first row in the back section next to the lake, and be sure to walk all the way to the end of the row. You lot in the middle," he waved a hand, "will have to pay attention to see when you'll need to start a new row. Any questions?"

"How long will the ceremony last?"

"I don't know, but I hope it goes without saying that I expect each and every one of you to sit quietly and respectfully until you are dismissed." He followed this statement with a slow survey of the room, making eye contact with the kids in each year who were natural leaders. "And take care of each other today—this is a difficult day for many of us. From _all_ the houses," he emphasized.

Several of the girls, including Hermione and Ginny, reached for the hands of nearby friends, and there was a slight shuffling as many of the boys moved closer to one another.

Bill pushed open the portrait hole and led the way.

()()()()

The ceremony ended with the reading of the names of the fifty witches and wizards who had been killed here, at Hogwarts, during the Final Battle. Kingsley's deep voice echoed across the audience and the lake beyond, and he waited for each reverberation to fade before reading the next one. It was some moments after he finished before the audience realized the ceremony was over, and it was not until Harry left the stage that the crowd began to break up in earnest.

Bill was sitting with his family. There were many things he would do for Minerva McGonagall, but among all the other sacrifices he had made this year to cover the position of Head of Gryffindor House, abandoning his family at the memorial of Fred's death was not one of them. Ginny had felt the same way, especially with Harry, Ron, and Hermione seated up front, so now Bill stood between his wife and his sister, glancing easily over the heads of the crowd to confirm his pupils were more or less making an orderly return to the castle. Ginny slid under his right arm in a hug, and as she did so, Bill noticed his parents were still seated at the opposite end of the row. He hesitated for a moment, rubbing his sister's back absently, but Mum and Dad were turned into each other, heads bent together and backs to the outside. Deciding it was best to leave them alone for now, he turned to follow Fleur and noticed a familiar brunette approaching from the opposite direction.

As Amy Green and Fleur exchanged basic pleasantries, Bill reached round Ginny to poke Charlie sharply in the kidney. Having successfully drawn Charlie's attention to her presence, Bill turned to the woman in question and accepted her hug.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Alright," he said simply. "You?"

She had been crying; the red rim around her eyes and used tissue sticking out of one robe pocket confirmed it, but she nodded. "Yeah. Considering." Amy then smiled at his sister. "Hey, you."

Ginny almost fell into her embrace, and Bill made a mental note to make sure neither his sister nor Harry appeared at breakfast. Ginny needed more than an end-of-day check-in with her oldest brother a.k.a. professor a.k.a. Head of House. He sighed.

Amy had the back of her hand on Ginny's head, holding her against her shoulder and speaking quietly. "It gets better, Ginny. I promise it does."

She sniffed and nodded, pulling away, and Amy gave her a tender smile, straightening the collar of her robes. Bill was suddenly reminded of a happier Amy and a much younger Ginny, that summer after the Chamber when Amy had helped Bill help Ginny. He dawdled, wanting to see Charlie and Amy's interaction, but Charlie pushed Percy ahead of him. Fleur called his name, and he quickened his step to catch her up.

She took his hand and leaned in close. "It may be inappropriate to say, today of all days…."

"But?"

"If Charlie and Amy are still friends, they will not be for long."

Bill smiled and kissed the top of her head. His wife had a perfect record so far, having predicted Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, and even Dean and Luna's fling last May, not to mention their own relationship. Maybe it was the French in her; maybe it was the Veela. Whatever it was, Bill no longer doubted it.

"You think so?"

"Mmm," Fleur murmured. "Come this way."

She led him away from the crowd walking down the drive, past the castle, towards Hagrid's hut and the Forbidden Forest beyond. In short order they were hidden amongst the trees, the familiar landmarks of the grounds still visible between the branches.

"Fleur? What are we doing here?"

"Resting," she said simply. "You have spent all of yesterday and this morning thinking of everyone else, but Fred was your brother. Remus and Tonks your friends. Take a moment, before you go back to the castle and become responsible for everyone else again."

And there it was, the reality he'd been trying to avoid for longer than yesterday. Her arms were around his back, her beautiful face watching his, but Bill looked away.

"I—can't," he said hoarsely. "I can't, Fleur, because if I think about it—think about him—" Unbidden came the memory of Christmas, his first year in Egypt. He'd come home unannounced to surprise his mother, and the twins had been so excited to tell him everything about their first term at Hogwarts he'd hardly been able to say hello to everyone else, Fred talking a mile a minute with George chiming in with extra details and both of them finishing each other's sentences.

Fleur squeezed harder, resisting his efforts to turn away. For such a slim witch, she was strong … and strong-willed. He relented, tucking his face in the crook of her neck and breathing in the sweet smell of shea butter soap and _her_.

It was only after she spoke, long minutes later, that Bill realized she'd been tracing the lines of his back.

"Hmmm?"

"I said, I found your list."

"What list?" he asked, mentally reviewing his map of the grounds and wondering how much longer before he was missed in the Great Hall.

"This one," she said, letting go to pull a piece of parchment from her pocket. "You left someone off. I added him for you."

"Who?" Immediately alert, Bill straightened.

"See for yourself."

There, at the bottom of the list of names, in his wife's elegant handwriting, was his own. _Bill Weasley_.

"Subtle, aren't you?"

She gave a Gallic shrug. "I try."

He kissed her. "Modest, too," he murmured.

" _Non, pas moi_ ," she breathed, deepening the kiss and erasing any idea of an answer.

"Maybe—" Bill broke away a few moments later, slightly breathless. "Maybe, by next year…."

"We will have something to celebrate by then, no?" She smiled up at him.

"Yes," he said. "Maybe a baby to make everyone smile."


	2. Amy Green

A/N: So, I asked Lucy if I could borrow little Evelyn Alistair and then forgot to credit her. Evelyn in chapter one is from _A Call to Arms_ by My Dear Professor McGonagall. Once again, thanks to Arnel 63 for betaing!

* * *

 _May 2, 1999_

Amy Green stared up at the winged boars atop the open gates, confirming her destination: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was not familiar with the castle or the grounds, having attended school in New Orleans, Louisiana, but Charlie had assured her if she followed the drive and veered right around the castle the nearby open space near the lake, where the memorial was to be held, would be visible.

It felt weird to be here again, exactly one year later (give or take a few hours). The twenty-four hours that followed the Battle of Hogwarts were the only time she had been here. It was beautiful, she had to admit. The castle itself appeared straight out of a fairytale, and even in the gray light of predawn she could see the grounds, forest, and surrounding mountains would be spectacular. She pushed her hands deeper into her pockets. Coming from the desert edge of Cairo, it was freezing. She had pulled on a sweater and the winter cloak she wore when visiting her best friend in New England, but the Scottish weather was damp as well as cold, and Amy could feel the rising fog's moisture on her face and hair.

One year … last year she had been juggling Order of the Phoenix meetings between treasure hunts, using Apparition or Portkeys to travel thousands of miles in a single evening. Before travel across the Atlantic had become legally difficult as the American magical community isolated itself from the war raging in Britain, she had extended some of those trips to include visits home to her boyfriend. There had been raids and stakeouts, daily meals in the various break rooms scattered around Gringotts Cairo branch eavesdropping on conversations by European witches and wizards in hopes of gathering any detail of useful information, Floo calls with Charlie almost daily.

David had hated those Floo-calls.

Amy sighed, adjusting her stride to navigate the slope down to the lake, which was visible only as a large hole blacker than the land that surrounded it. She still wasn't sure how she felt about her breakup with David Townsend. By the end, it had seemed almost inevitable, but it was hard to look back at the hope and excitement she'd had even just last summer and realize it had all fallen apart.

But today wasn't about her and her problems; being American, living in Egypt, Amy had chosen to become involved, and her literal and emotional distance from the bulk of the fighting had protected her. Even these last twelve months, the grief had been easy to avoid. Other than an overnight visit to Romania on her way back from the U.S. at Christmas and a small announcement in the Cairo Oracle last week, the entire war, not just the Battle of Hogwarts, had been surprisingly easy to avoid.

Not now. Now Amy remembered falling in a giant's footprint; the adrenaline rush of terror and nausea when she had felt something brush her robes and turned to find herself face-to-leg with a dead Acromantula; ducking spells from opponents that, unlike her daily work as a curse-breaker, actually fought back. The dead lined up on the stone floor of the Great Hall, more than half of them mere children; the look on the Weasleys' faces when she had finally found them and asked after Ron and Fred.

And Nymphadora Tonks. Amy didn't make friends easily, but Tonks hadn't given her much of a choice. The few nights Amy had stayed over in London those first two years of the war had always been with Tonks, usually because they'd been having so much fun Amy had missed her Portkey. She had been shocked when she heard the news of Tonks's death, having never dreamed her friend would have left her newborn son. Communication with anyone in Britain had been sparse that last year, but Tonks had made an effort to send word of her pregnancy and marriage to Remus Lupin. Amy had done the math and made a note on her calendar in early April 1998, wishing mom and baby a safe delivery and all the happiness in the world.

For all the good it did.

Tonks had been Amy's friend, but Charlie had known her all his life, been friends with her throughout their years here at Hogwarts before they started dating. While he'd never said so, Amy had always sensed there was more to their relationship than teenage puppy love, at least on his side. As much as Amy missed Tonks, grieved her, raged against the tragedy that killed a young woman in the prime of her life, that deprived a baby of his mother … all those feelings had to be magnified for Charlie.

She had arrived. The chairs were about half full already. In the front row the messy black and bright red hair of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were easily recognizable, Ron's girlfriend, Hermione Granger, between them. Charlie had offered to save Amy a seat but she had demurred, fearing she would intrude on the family's private grief as they mourned the death of a son and brother. Instead she gave a small wave to the red-haired row and joined the other members of the Order of the Phoenix sitting near the aisle.

The group was pitifully small, much smaller than the witches and wizards who had crowded the kitchen of Grimmauld House at her first meeting. Swallowing hard, Amy looked around for a distraction.

From this perspective she could see the space between the stage and the crowd … or what used to be a space. Filled with flowers, candles, and pictures of the dead, it was the brightest spot despite the rising sun on the horizon. With a pang, Amy realized some of those faces had been Muggle-born (like her), but their parents and families would not be here; couldn't be here. She took a deep breath and pulled out a couple of tissues from the travel pack in her pocket. She was going to need them.

()()()()

It had been a moving, respectful ceremony. The sleepy-eyed children from the castle were meandering back for breakfast, and most of the crowd was lining up to speak with Harry Potter, just as they had a year ago after Voldemort fell at his hand. Amy made her way against the flow to greet the Weasleys.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were a little triangle of their own, hands clasped and heads bent close together. Even their children were not approaching them, so Amy waited at the opposite end of the row, smiling at Fleur and accepting hugs from Bill and Ginny as they passed. George looked fragile enough to break, so Amy didn't speak, just squeezed his arm as he walked by. Charlie was next but stepped back to let Percy go ahead. When the young man turned and walked away without making eye contact, Amy reached out and grabbed the back of his robes.

"Hey! What am I, chopped liver?"

Percy stared blankly for a moment, leading Amy to surmise that must be an American idiom.

"Get down here," she said, reaching her arms up for a hug.

He was taller than Charlie, as tall as Bill, and she had to stand on tiptoe to speak in his ear. "Life's too short for hard feelings, wouldn't you agree?"

Percy's head jerked in a nod and he hugged her back, blinking rapidly as they separated.

"Go on, Perce. I'll see you later."

With Charlie behind him, Amy couldn't see the look that passed between the brothers, but she felt it.

Percy turned back around. "It was nice to see you, Amy," he said quietly and left, leaving her and Charlie standing alone.

"I'll walk you back," Charlie said.

"All right," she agreed.

They fell in step with the others leaving the lakeside, but unlike the murmur of conversation all around them, Charlie was silent. Amy tolerated it for a while—he certainly had reason—but when the enormous, fantastical castle came into view and still he said nothing, she bumped gently against his shoulder.

"Tell me something about Hogwarts. About when you were here."

"I remember their Sorting," he said finally. "The twins'. Fred went first—he always went first, but the Sorting is alphabetical order—and he grinned at me with this smug look before the hat even touched his head. He knew he was a Gryffindor, never doubted it." He paused. "But George—I asked Percy about it later, to see if I'd imagined it, and he agreed with me. There was just the slightest hint of fear in George's eyes before the hat hid them, that maybe this time he wouldn't be able to follow Fred."

Not exactly the kind of memory she'd been hoping for. "Bill always described them as 'pranksters extraordinaire.'"

Charlie laughed. Harshly, but it was a laugh. Of sorts.

"Godric, like nothing I've ever seen," he said. "I was Quidditch Captain that year, their first year. First-years aren't allowed on the House teams, but they hijacked nearly every practice in one way or another. Bucking spells on the broomsticks, sticking charms on the Quaffle so it couldn't be thrown, they even figured out some way to—" He turned to her. "What's it called, the little wand thing Muggles have? For the telly?"

"A remote?"

"That's it. They even figured out a way to remote control the Snitch. Well, the practice one," he amended. "The real ones are locked in Madame Hooch's office so no one can throw a match by tampering with one."

He laughed again, genuinely this time. "I remember—did Bill ever tell you about Lindsay Campbell?"

Amy shook her head.

"Tonks caught the two of them in the broom shed one time. She, ah—" He ran a hand through his cropped hair, making it stand on end, and just the tips of his ears were turning pink. "She was supposed to be meeting me, but I was running late—I don't know, maybe Snape kept us late in Potions, or maybe—I used to swear Percy had my and Tonks's timetables memorized and sabotaged us every chance he could, so maybe he'd held me up—anyway, by the time I get there Lindsay's nowhere in sight and Tonks—" He snickered. "Little Tonks is standing toe-to-toe with my big brother, yelling at him about how the broom shed is our spot and everyone knows only Quidditch players are allowed in and just because he's Head Boy…. On and on she went, for a good five minutes, and every time Bill made to move around her, she morphed into a different professor. Merlin, she was magnificent. I'd forgotten about that."

"She played Quidditch?"

Charlie nodded. "Beater, for Hufflepuff. Graceful on a broomstick, she was."

The mood shifted again, not quite melancholy but not exactly relaxed, either. Amy was trying to ignore the way his hand kept brushing hers, but she didn't think how closely they were walking was an accident.

It was a few steps before she realized he wasn't beside her. He had stopped partway down the drive to the gates, looking back at the castle as if he'd forgotten she was there at all.

"Charlie?"

He didn't turn around. "When I left school, I thought I would never be back. Now…."

"Now it will be every year," Amy said quietly, and he nodded.

"I—" He swiped one arm across his face and turned, taking her hand. "It's not how I wanted to remember Hogwarts."

"It's not your only memory of Hogwarts," she said, squeezing his hand.

He heaved a sigh. "No," he admitted, falling into step with her. "But it's bloody prominent."

It was. Amy remembered making this same walk with Charlie last year, coming from the Great Hall that time.

It could have been yesterday.

She stopped just outside the gates which marked the border of the protective spells and wards that guarded the school and grounds.

"So, I'll see you around, yeah?" She wasn't proud of the hesitant, fearful tone of her voice, but this felt like a final goodbye, a true test of their friendship. Without Bill, without the Order, without funerals and final business meetings and celebratory parties, without Tonks … what reason would they have to see each other again?

"Didn't you stay overnight?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

He let go of her hand and wrapped his around her waist, drawing her close and turning her toward Hogsmeade at the same time.

"I'll walk you back," he said casually.

Too casually. He had kissed her over Christmas—the last time they'd seen each other in person— _really_ kissed her, and she had let him. She had still been dating David, Charlie was just back from a difficult holiday with his family, she had seen the kiss coming, and she had let him. And kissed him back … and not regretted it.

"Charlie—" She broke off when she realized how close they were. With his arm around her waist, turning to face him meant she was standing in his embrace. She swallowed.

He reached out and raked his fingers through her hair, pushing it away from one side of her face, behind her shoulder. Amy opened her mouth but nothing came out. He must have sensed her discomfort, for he took her hand again and tugged.

"Come on, I'll buy you a drink."

"It's barely sunrise!" she protested, waving her free hand at the pale halo of sun struggling to burn away the morning mist.

"Tea, then."

"Charlie…."

He still held her hand, and now he wove his fingers between hers. "Amy," he mocked.

She huffed and tried to pull away, only succeeding in bringing him closer so their hands rested on his chest. Amy looked away from Hogsmeade and the temptation of her room in The Three Broomsticks.

"I think we both know what will happen if you walk me back to Hogsmeade."

He raised his brows, the challenging "so?" unspoken but clear.

She closed her eyes, trying to think past the haze of emotion and memory. She'd spent a good chunk of her nights these last four months trying not to think of the way Charlie Weasley had kissed her at Christmas. But this was really, really bad timing. Worse than Christmas, even, when she'd still been dating David. She couldn't shake the feeling that if she and Charlie slept together this morning, _this_ morning, their sadness and grief and guilt and regrets about the war would get mixed up with their feelings for each other, and they'd never speak to one another again.

Amy pulled her hand from his and stepped back. "Not today, Charlie," she said as gently as she could. "Not—" She waved her hand at the gates and the castle and grounds beyond. "Not after this."

He blew out a breath, nodded. "Yeah. You're probably right."

"I usually am," she teased, and was rewarded by the hint of a smile. "G'won," she said, letting her Southern accent drawl the words together. "Spend the day with your family. Remember Fred, and Tonks, and everyone else you knew. I'll see you later."

He pointed at her, already starting to back away. "I'll hold you to that."

"Do," Amy said, then on impulse, crossed the space between them and hugged him. "Don't be a stranger," she whispered.

"The Floo goes both ways," he replied, completing the repetition of the same exchange they'd made last year, then setting her away from him, laying one calloused hand on her cheek for the briefest of moments. "'Bye, Amy. Take care of yourself."

Amy didn't stay to watch him walk out of sight but turned towards Hogsmeade, knowing she would never return.

* * *

a/n: **MandyinKC** will return tomorrow with another chapter of **_Reflections_** , and we'll alternate from then on. Be sure you're following both stories for the full experience!


	3. Jean Granger

_May 2, 2008_

Jean Granger sat on her porch swing in the darkness, a blanket thrown round her and the sleeping toddler in her lap. It was early May, the darkest hour before dawn. Her daughter Hermione had appeared in her front hall just a few minutes ago, dropped off _her_ daughter with a detailed list of instructions and what had to be three stone of equipment and supplies, and disappeared again.

Literally, because her daughter was a witch.

Jean pushed the swing gently with one foot, remembering the day she and her husband Hugh had learned that. It was on this very porch that Professor McGonagall had stood and explained she was deputy Headmistress at a school called Hogwarts and Hermione had been selected for a full scholarship.

That's the story that got her in the door, at least; the story in the living room had been a bit different.

Jean smoothed the red-gold curls of the child in her arms. There wouldn't be such a visit or story for Rose. Magic born, with a witch and wizard for parents, Hermione said she'd already done some simple accidental magic. Rose's name would have been put down for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the day of her birth.

Jean remembered that day too. She and Hugh had tried to convince Hermione to have a hospital birth, even if it was the magical hospital in London, but Hermione had wanted to avoid both the exposure and the hassle. Even ten years later Jean didn't fully understand why, but her daughter and her son-in-law were famous in their world. Hermione had wanted the birth of her child to be private, family only. They'd had a midwife at home but Jean had remained unconvinced until Hermione admitted she wanted her mum to be present for the labor and birth, and as a Muggle—a non-magical person—Jean would not be allowed in the wizarding hospital, just as she'd never seen Hermione's wizarding school.

Which is why she sat here, on her front porch in England, instead of by a lake in northern Scotland listening to her daughter's speech.

It was the second of May, the ten-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, and Hermione had been invited to give the keynote address. Well, as she told it, Harry—her best friend Harry Potter, who was even more famous than she and Ron and had been so since he was younger than Rose here—Harry had been invited and delegated the task to Hermione.

Jean readjusted the blanket, careful to keep Rose covered even as she created a pocket for her own body heat to escape. Sleeping children were toasty warm, like little generators, and Hermione had bundled the girl rather excessively, worried about the absence of warming charms in the drafty old Victorian.

Hermione had shown her the speech yesterday, and even allowing for a mother's bias, it was excellent. Most everything Hermione did was, even if it had taken her a little while to settle into a version of motherhood that suited her. Unlike her sister-in-law Ginny, who stayed home with her two (soon to be three) children, Hermione continued to work as a lawyer for the Ministry of Magic. Having maintained her own dental practice throughout Hermione's childhood, Jean didn't blame her.

Hermione had fretted about the appearance of leaving Rose behind on a landmark anniversary, but Ron had insisted even she couldn't manage a two-and-a-half-year-old and an important speech while thirty-four weeks pregnant. With Ron providing security for the event and Ginny nearly as heavily pregnant as Hermione, plus most of their nieces and nephews no older than preschoolers, leaving Rose with Jean and Hugh was the most sensible answer, and Jean was grateful for it.

Not that she rarely saw her granddaughter. Hermione made dutiful visits once monthly and included her parents in birthdays and holidays. But they didn't have the kind of close relationship where they were in and out of each other's houses and lives on a daily basis, and having married into a family of six who _were_ in each other's business, Hermione rarely needed her parents to mind the baby.

Jean shifted Rose to her other shoulder, shivering slightly as the swing's motion blew air over the damp patch where the toddler's cheek had rested against her neck. Rose remained limp and pliable, her only motion to shove the opposite thumb in her mouth and resume sucking.

It was better than she had expected ten years ago. Ten years ago today, she and Hugh had been living in Wahroonga, New South Wales, Australia as Monica and Wendell Wilkins. They'd had no knowledge of Hogwarts, Harry Potter, Lord Voldemort, a war, or even Hermione herself thanks to the memory-modifying charm she had performed. It wasn't until Hermione and Ron "accidentally" ran into them at their flat after work one evening in July 1998 that the truth was revealed.

Rose whimpered, rubbing her face against Jean's shoulder, and she realized she'd inadvertently tightened her hold. Rubbing the thin back soothingly and murmuring apologies, she put the swing back into motion.

That first year, there had been times when Jean had wondered if she and Hugh would ever get past Hermione's betrayal. It wasn't until she left for her last year at Hogwarts in September, when it was just the two of them again, that the suppressed emotions had come to the surface.

She sighed, slouching enough to rest her head on the back of the swing and closing her eyes. It really was dreadfully early. She should go back to bed and take Rose with her. But there was something peaceful and completive about the old house in the first light just visible over the rooftops to the east.

And Rose … her first grandchild. This child, her presence here alone, without her mother, was a tangible personification of the healing in their own mother-daughter relationship. Hermione trusted Jean with the person most precious to her. Trusted that even though she wouldn't do things the way Hermione did, _couldn't_ do them as Hermione did, Jean would care for Rose's physical and emotional well-being. Trusted her and Hugh to take any mention or performance of magic in stride. It showed Hermione valued her parents and her Muggle-born heritage and was willing to expose Rose to an alternate view of the world.

An alternate view that featured predominantly in what Hermione was saying right now. She and Ron had explained the wizarding war they had fought in as racism in the magical community, racism to the extreme of genocide. A genocide that had targeted Jean's beautiful, passionate, brilliant daughter through no fault of her own. Racism that Hermione worked every day to eliminate as she fought for the rights of other magical creatures.

There were shadows on the porch now as the light crept inexorably closer to where she and Rose sat at the west end of the house. Jean stood, throwing the extra blanket over her shoulder to eliminate any risk of tripping with the little one. Sunrise … a new grandbaby arriving soon … the delights of children's books and films and simple wonders to experience all over again. It had been a good ten years since Hermione found them in Australia, and the next ten promised to be even better.

* * *

a/n: Aaand, Mandy returns tomorrow with another chapter of _Reflections._ If you're enjoying these stories, please drop us a line-we'd love to hear from you!


	4. James Sirius

_May 2, 2022_

"You know, McGonagall said something last autumn that I've never asked you about," I said.

"Yeah?" Dad said. "What's that?"

It was early, and cold. Stars still cast their reflection in the lake in front of us even as dawn began to show itself in the graying sky over the Forbidden Forest. For the first time in my life, I had risen on the second of May without complaint; risen early enough to meet meet my father at the memorial site before everyone arrived, while Ministry workers and the Headmistress were still setting up the stage and seating.

"After…." I hesitated, not wanting to remind Dad of the events that had resulted in my mum spending an entire fortnight shadowing my every move. "Before Mum visited…."

He hummed, a low sound that indicated he recognized the evasion but would let it slide.

"When Mc—when Professor McGonagall took the Cloak—" I hurried on, using McGonagall's title in acknowledgement of the immense disrespect that had immediately preceded the event in question. "She said—" I closed my eyes, trying to remember her exact words. "She said, 'The last time I saw this was the night of the Final Battle. Your father and Luna Lovegood appeared from underneath it in Ravenclaw Tower.'"

"Oh!" Dad said in surprise, turning from his contemplation of Dumbledore's tomb. "I've never told you that story?"

I shook my head. "What were you doing in Ravenclaw Tower? For that matter," I added as the thought occurred to me, "what was McGonagall doing in Ravenclaw Tower? Mum said something about her being the one to capture—what was the name of the Death Eaters teaching that year? Hollow? Harrow?"

"Carrow," Dad corrected. "Amycus and Alecto Carrow. They were brother and sister."

"Were they Ravenclaws?"

He snorted. "Hardly." He paused, obviously thinking where to begin. "One of the Horcruxes was Ravenclaw's diadem, do you remember?"

Dad had explained the Horcruxes, plural, to me and Al over the Christmas holiday. I'd never heard of that particular type of dark magic at all until Mum showed me the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets and explained about Tom Riddle's diary; but there had been more than just the diary. I tried to remember the few details I had been told. "The crown-thing that got destroyed by Fiendfyre?"

"That's it."

"You thought it was in Ravenclaw Tower," I guessed. Seemed logical.

"I didn't know where it was," Dad said. "No one did, not any of the Ravenclaws or even Professor Flitwick, who was head of Ravenclaw House. No one had seen it in living memory."

The phrase sounded odd, almost as if he were reciting from memory, like a poem.

"But Ravenclaw Tower seemed the only logical place to start. There was a statue there of Rowena Ravenclaw, so at least I could see what it looked like. Luna—"

Dad's mouth twitched, but not in remembrance of an amusing anecdote about her oddity, as I expected.

"My ex-girlfriend suggested it, but your mum volunteered Luna to show me. I'd never been to Ravenclaw Tower and knew only that it was somewhere in the west wing. We took the Cloak and the Map, and Luna answered the question that allowed us into the Tower."

"What question?"

"'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure,'" Dad quoted. "There's no password to Ravenclaw Tower—the door asks you a question. If you can't answer it correctly, you have to wait for someone who can."

Interesting. Despite cousins in Ravenclaw, I'd never been told that. Or maybe I'd just never paid attention. "Do you remember the question?"

"Not that one, but I remember McGonagall's. In a minute, James," Dad said when I opened my mouth.

I grimaced an apology and he continued.

"I assume Alecto had used a Disillusionment Charm; whatever it was, we didn't notice her and I stepped out from the Cloak to examine the statue. She activ—she notified Voldemort before I could Stun her."

I suppressed the spurt of irritation that tensed my shoulders at his hesitation; obviously, I still didn't know the whole story. Part of me believed Dad, Aunt Hermione, and Uncle Ron would take it to their graves.

"But Luna did. It was the first time she'd ever Stunned anyone outside of DA lessons, and Alecto hit the floor hard. The noise woke the kids in the Tower, and they came down the stairs to see what was going on. Then her brother was pounding on the door, demanding to be let in, and McGonagall—I don't know if you've ever seen it, but she has this way of being sarcastically insulting while remaining perfectly polite."

I grinned. I had seen it. Not often, as McGonagall was my Headmistress rather than my teacher, but she didn't suffer fools gladly. Myself included.

"Amycus was just trying to break through the door with brute force, he never knocked, but McGonagall did. I remember the question it asked her because when I heard it, I thought we would be stuck in the Tower until Voldemort arrived."

"What was it?" I asked again.

"Where do vanished objects go?"

I stared and Dad laughed. "Exactly my reaction, but she answered smooth as you please. 'Into non-being, which is to say, everything.'"

"Well, that—no, that doesn't make sense," I protested.

Dad shrugged. "Once things calmed down, after, and I started going over everything in my mind, I really started wondering about the magic in that door. Of all the questions it could have asked Hogwarts's Transfiguration teacher, it choose one about—"

"Transfiguration magic!" I breathed, fascinated.

"Mm-hmm. So, all the kids had run back upstairs at this point, and McGonagall and Amycus enter the common room to find Alecto Stunned on the floor and Amycus just goes crazy, ranting about how Voldemort will kill them all when he arrives and finds out I'm not there."

"Doesn't sound too crazy to me," I muttered. I may not know all the details, but I knew enough to know Voldemort did not consider murder a last resort.

"Quite. He decides to blame the Ravenclaws, and McGonagall drew the line. He spit in her face."

Dad sounded amazed, as if he still couldn't believe his own eyes, and I was rather amazed myself. Spitting on Minerva McGonagall revealed a tremendous amount of stupidity—even more so than ambushing her with catnip in her Animagus form.

"That's when I stepped out from under the Cloak, cursed him, and asked Professor McGonagall about the diadem. Then Luna reveals herself while McGonagall is trying to convince me to leave the castle, and—well, you have to remember … at this point in the war, there was so little news that rumors were flying. People thought I was dead or had fled the country. Luna had been kidnapped off the Hogwarts Express months before, at Christmas, and here we were not only at Hogwarts, but in the Ravenclaw common room."

I tried to picture it. Two months ago Dad and Uncle Ron had captured the last living Death Eater. We—me and Al and Lily and our cousins still at Hogwarts—found out the next morning when an incriminating picture of Uncle Ron choking the accused appeared on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. Rose had read the article, brought it to Hugo at the Gryffindor table, and headed straight for the library. The rest of us weren't far behind, and we all skipped our first lesson digging in the library's archives. Out of all the dark wizards he had interviewed, after all the time spent testifying at the trials, why had Uncle Ron broken every interrogation law in existence and attacked this particular Death Eater nearly a quarter-century later?

Over the following days, Rose and Lucy had pieced together a rough timeline of the year Dad, Uncle Ron, and Aunt Hermione had been on the run with various news clippings and by interviewing each of us kids about what we had been told by our parents (or overheard). The only actual news of the "golden trio" that year had been on September first, when they didn't show up at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, and the following day, when they had broken into the Ministry of Magic. There were rumors of a capture and escape in radio transcripts around Easter, and the rumors of a break-in at Gringotts on the first of May were even wilder than what actually happened, but the rest was all speculation and propaganda. I could still see Dad's face staring up at me from the wanted poster that declared him "Undesirable Number One" and imagined what it would be like to have him appear out of thin air in front of me.

"Yeah, I could see how that might give one a bit of a shock," I said.

People were starting to arrive. It was still a few minutes to sunrise, and the rest of the pupils from the castle weren't here yet, but the regulars—former members of Dumbledore's Army, the Order of the Phoenix, people who had fought in the Final Battle here at Hogwarts—were filling in the rows of chairs.

Dad smiled. "Save me a seat, yeah?"

I rolled my eyes. Of all the officials and fighters honored every year, Dad would be the very last one to lose a seat. He stood to greet the small knot of people hovering in the aisle next to us, people who had known him well enough as a teen that they wanted to speak to him but not well enough to be part of our social circle year-round. Neville—Professor Longbottom would be here soon with all of Gryffindor House, and I spotted Aunt Audrey, Aunt Fleur, and Uncle Bill a few rows back, but I was still looking for Luna, hoping she might share additional details, when Mum dropped into the other chair beside me.

"Morning, Jamie."

" 'lo, Mum." I hated the childhood nickname, especially here at Hogwarts, but after everything I'd learned this year, I could forgive my mum's sentimentality today.

The day her brother died.

"How long have you been here?"

I heard the curiosity in her tone and the question behind it. _Why, when you've complained about getting up in the middle of the night for a ceremony you've seen over and over, are you here before the rest of the pupils?_

"I got up early to meet Dad," I said simply.

Her eyebrows rose. It said something that my parents didn't arrive at this event together. Normally if one of them was hurting or had a problem, the other was right by their side. This day was difficult for both my parents, but for different reasons … and they each gave the other space to deal with it in their own way. Dad always arrived crazy early to have some time alone to pay his respects, while Mum prefered to spend as little time as possible on the Hogwarts grounds. After what I'd witnessed last October and the stories she (and Professor Longbottom) had shared, I finally understood why. She would leave without Dad too; once people started to arrive, he wouldn't have a moment to himself until he'd spoken and shaken hands with what seemed like the entire wizarding population of England. It wasn't, of course. I hadn't been born in the early anniversaries, but even since I could remember, other than the twentieth anniversary in 2018, the crowds thinned a little more each year.

"That was nice of you," Mum said.

I shrugged. Dad had invited me every year since I'd started Hogwarts, but since it took me six years to accept his offer, it didn't seem very nice to me.

"Are you going to sit with the Gryffindors?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, craning round to see if there was any sign of their impending arrival. "Unless-" I turned back. "Do you want me to sit with you?"

She smiled, then shook her head. "I'll go over with the family in a minute. I just wanted to say hi." She squeezed my hand, obviously restraining herself for what she perceived to be my preference for minimal displays of affection, so I leaned over and hugged her.

"I love you, Mum."

I felt her shoulders jerk as the emotions hit her suddenly and squeezed harder, but true to form, Mum contained her tears. A sniffle and a quick swipe and she pulled away.

"Come say hello to your grandparents afterwards," she said. "And bring your brother and sister."

I nodded as she walked off, accepting we'd be late to the breakfast feast McGonagall always provided after the memorial in appreciation for the castle's early awakening.

For the first time, I felt like I understood, at least a little bit, what this day meant to my mother. As difficult as it had been having her at Hogwarts in the autumn (and now, in the privacy of my own mind, I could admit I'd been a large part of the difficulty), it had changed how I saw her. She was as much a war hero as any of the more familiar names the public associated with the war. I had always assumed her sadness and uncharacteristic reserve on May second was due to Uncle Fred's death, and it was … but it was so much more. A year of fearing for and missing my dad, Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione; watching Luna, her oldest friend, be kidnapped off the Hogwarts Express; wondering about her disappeared Muggle-born friends and classmates; detentions with dark magic; organizing an underground resistance under the very noses of Voldemort's followers. It made my sixth-year look like child's play in comparison.

Here came my classmates, a long progression four abreast, led by the Gryffindors in honor of the house that had had the highest percentage of student fighters—one hundred percent. I slipped into place beside my best friend Cameron Davies, ready to honor the fallen and celebrate the victorious.


	5. Oliver Wood

_May 2, 2023_

Oliver Wood settled back in his chair as the Minister for Magic approached the podium. He had known Percy Weasley for a long time—all their lives, really—and while his best mate could go on and on about anything, the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts was hardly "anything."

As Percy began a detailed reminiscence of the past quarter-century, Oliver's mind drifted even further, back to the end of the last Triwizard Tournament. A reserve keeper for Puddlemere United that year, he and the entire team had been part of the enormous crowd that turned up for the Third Task. Oliver had been in the stands when the murmurings began about missing champions, had seen Harry Potter Apparate with Cedric Diggory's body and the Triwizard Cup. Oliver remembered the summer of slander in the press, Percy's desperation to keep working in the Ministry, his growing impatience with his family's insistence on the return of Voldemort, and finally … a furious, obstinate, shattered wizard arriving unannounced on his doorstep one evening that July. Most of all, Oliver remembered Percy waking him in the middle of the night over a year later to deliver the news of the death of both his older brothers, and the two years following that Oliver spent hounding Percy to make peace with his family before they reunited at a funeral.

He'd succeeded by such a thin margin it still felt like failure.

Percy had moved on from talking about his personal experiences during the war (which everyone knew, anyway—it had been an interesting ministerial campaign, to say the least) and was now recounting the various reforms the Ministry had implemented in hopes of preventing any future megalomaniacs from trying to kill the majority of the wizarding population. While Oliver was proud of the accomplishments of not just Percy, but many of their generation, he was already familiar with the entire list.

Were it not for the trappings of a stage and his friend's receding hairline, they could have been fifteen years old again. With the backdrop of the lake and the castle rising on the cliffs above, Percy's enthusiastic gesturing making his glasses slide down his nose, the words coming out of his mouth could as easily have been about his latest project in Muggle Studies as the latest Muggle protection legislation.

Merlin, that was thirty years ago now. His eyes caught the trio of dark-haired witches in the front row, nearly identical from the back—Audrey, Molly, and Lucy. There were not many things that made Oliver feel old, but the kids did. His and Katie's, Percy's … shoot, even George and Angelina's youngest was fourteen! Roxie would be a fifth year herself this autumn.

And, thankfully, each and every one of those kids, and countless more, had had peaceful childhoods. That was the celebration of this day, amidst the lingering sadness. Those first few years of memorials had been excruciating, a scraping of wounds that refused to heal. But now … with distance and perspective, with many of the reforms they once hoped for a reality … now it felt like a victory that could be celebrated. They had made a better world for their children. They had prevented dark wizards from gaining power and influence. There was more tolerance, more acceptance, more understanding. Oliver was proud of the work that had been done, proud of Percy's significant role in it … proud that he'd kept his speech to—he squinted at his watch in the weak sunlight just slanting across the lake—under thirty minutes.

After the applause (which sounded genuinely appreciative, whether of Percy's words or his timeline Oliver wasn't certain), Oliver reached for Katie's hand. Everyone knew what was coming next: the reading of the names.

It took less than ten minutes, but to those who at been at the castle that night, it always felt like an eternity. After twenty-five years, even the people Oliver hadn't known were familiar, and there was always the recognition of family names. If he hadn't gone to school with them, he had with an older brother or sister … or one of _his_ brothers had. With two wars in a single generation, Britain's wizarding population was pitifully small.

Harry Potter waited until the echo of the last name faded completely, then left the stage. It was over.

"Breakfast?" Katie suggested once the crowd began to disperse.

"You go ahead." Oliver nodded towards the front. "I'm going to wait for Percy."

She smiled and squeezed his hand before letting go, but Oliver remained seated. Percy would know where to find him.

With hands to shake and family to hug, it took nearly as long as the ceremony itself before Percy made his way to Oliver's seat. His stomach rumbled as Perce approached.

"Should I be flattered you skipped breakfast to wait for me?" he asked dryly.

"Nice speech," Oliver said.

"You didn't hear half of it," Percy accused.

Oliver met his friend's eyes. "I heard enough."

Percy nodded once, brushing non-existent dust from his robes. "Cheers," he said quietly.

"How are you?"

Away from the public and the eagle eyes of both the press and his family, Percy dropped the Minister of Magic persona and flopped into a nearby chair.

"I hate everything about this day."

"Not everything," Oliver said, hoping to remind him of his niece's birthday.

"Victoire's party is always in the evening. That's not day," Percy said irritably.

"Mmm-hmm."

"He would have hated it too."

Oliver knew without asking the "he" was Fred. "George doesn't seem to mind," he said mildly.

Percy snorted. "My point exactly. It's not about the people who died, it's about the living. The survivors."

Oliver considered this for a moment. "Is that bad?"

Percy sighed, sliding his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose with one hand. "I don't know, Ollie. I just. Don't. Know."

"What does today mean to you, Perce?"

"Other than a public airing of my private failings every bloody year?"

"Yes, other than that," Oliver said, a slight edge to his tone. Merlin, Percy could be a self-pitying git. It was not one of Oliver's favorite qualities about his friend.

"I am proud of the changes we've made. Not—not because I helped make them, not the way I was proud of working in the Ministry in the beginning, but just … because it's good work. It's good work for a good cause, and I'm proud of that."

"I think Fred would be too."

Percy raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Really. He'd humiliate you in the admitting of it, but yeah. I think he would. You've helped their deaths mean something, Percy."

The two men watched the sun rise in a silence only comfortable between long-time friends.

* * *

a/n: Be sure you're following the sister fic, _Reflections,_ by MandyinKC! She'll return with another chapter tomorrow.


	6. Scorpius Malfoy

_May 2, 2024_

Head Boy Scorpius Malfoy led the procession of Hogwarts students down the castle steps towards the lake. It was still dark, and even with his and Rose's _lumos_ charms, he could barely see a few yards in front of him.

These ceremonies were always awkward. Rose and Al and all their cousins complained about them too, but for Scorpius, it was different. Oh, there were always the comparisons (both he and Al had been cursed with looking just like their fathers), but Scorpius's parents hadn't been heroes. They hadn't fought with the Order of the Phoenix or fled the country or gone into hiding.

Scorpius's father had been a Death Eater, his grandparents' home Voldemort's headquarters.

In fact, it was to Malfoy Manor Rose's parents and godfather had been taken when they were captured, Malfoy Manor where her mum was tortured, his great-aunt who had performed the curse. His name was inexorably tied with the evil that had been Voldemort's regime, and Scorpius's presence at these ceremonies made everyone uncomfortable. Mum and Dad would stay home today as they did every year, but as a Hogwarts student his attendance was mandatory.

He sighed as the lake came into view, shimmering under a waning moon. Rose reached over and took his hand, squeezing briefly before letting go. She was his saving grace at these ceremonies; had been ever since first year, when she had quelled the dirty looks and not-so-hushed comments by leaving her place in queue with the rest of the first-year Ravenclaw girls and coming to stand directly beside him. Rose's presence, her status as the daughter of two of the heroes of Hogwarts, ensured any nastiness at least stayed out of earshot.

She wasn't bad with a wand, either.

It was easier to see now, the Ministry officials having put up lights around the stage while they made preparations. Scorpius extinguished his wand and stepped back to shepherd the Ravenclaws and Slytherins into orderly rows so they could file into the seats reserved for them. Most of the kids were quiet, being too sleepy to cause any fuss. He separated a couple second-years about to bump into each other (the latter had her eyes closed) and as the fifth-year Slytherins approached, went forward to help Rose. There were _lots_ of Gryffindors this year, more than double the number in their own class, and first-year Gryffindors meant first-class trouble.

Scorpius counted heads, determined where the second- and third-years should break, and directed them to take their seats. By the time Rose had the first-years settled, the older Hufflepuffs, well-experienced in the routine, were sitting down. Scorpius waited for her, and they joined their fellow Ravenclaws.

"Honestly," Rose muttered, pushing her curls out of her eyes. "They get more unruly every year."

"Well, this is the last time you'll have to deal with them," Scorpius said.

She smiled back, but it was bittersweet. Two months … they had two months left at Hogwarts, and then they'd never be back.

Except … that wasn't true, was it? With a start, Scorpius realized they'd always be back, today. Every May second, Rose would join her family in celebrating the end of the war and honoring the dead, including her uncle Fred Weasley, and that meant Scorpius would be here too. As the last of the Ministry workers scurried off the stage and vanished the torches, Scorpius closed his eyes and took a deep breath, focusing on the ceremony ahead. Today was not about the failures of his family or his resentment at being tarred with the same brush. Today was about remembering what had gone wrong, those who had fought to make it right, and learning the lessons needed to make sure it never happened again. Leading the students out here, encouraging both students and professors to tell their stories, demonstrating respect for the sacrifices made were all ways Scorpius endeavored to honor the anniversary.

The memorial progressed with the usual ritual, speeches, and sentiment. It was shorter than usual; this year was the twenty-sixth anniversary, and after all the pomp and ceremony of last year's remembrance, it seemed the Ministry had run out of ideas … and volunteers.

Rose left her seat with the rest of the students but did not head towards the castle, instead working her way to her parents and extended family.

Her mum spotted her first. "Rose!" she exclaimed, face lighting up. "Hello, darling. How are you?"

"Good," Rose said, returning her hug.

"Where's Hugo?"

She shrugged.

Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes and smiled at Scorpius. "Good morning, Scorpius, how are you?"

"I'm well, Mrs. Weasley, thank you." He didn't return the politeness; much like his well-intentioned dinner invitation last summer, it was not appropriate under the circumstances.

Rose was now being passed down the row of aunts and uncles and Scorpius looked around nervously, hoping Al or Hugo or any other of the Weasleys or Potters would show up and take the focus off him.

"Scorpius."

The deep voice came from several inches above him, and Scorpius turned to shake the hand of Ron Weasley. He wouldn't call his relationship with Rose's father friendly, exactly, but after his Auror internship last summer, they'd progressed to a sort of … collegial cordiality. At least he no longer called him "Malfoy" in that tone one reserved for chewing gum on a shoe.

"Good morning, Mr. Weasley. I—" He hesitated, then decided it _was_ appropriate. "I'm sorry about your brother."

Mr. Weasley nodded once, but before he could say anything else, a red-and-green blur charged across the aisle.

"Uncle Ron, Uncle Ron!"

Lily Potter launched herself at her uncle, who caught her easily and lifted her in a tight hug before setting her down again.

"Hello, Lily-Loo. How's my favorite Slytherin?"

Lily gave her uncle a dark look, whether at the nickname or the house reference Scorpius couldn't tell, but it was obvious there was no malice in it. As she chatted amiably with her uncle and the rest of the Weasley grandchildren at Hogwarts joined the mini reunion, Scorpius once again marveled at the Weasley-Potter family. There was no denying today was a sad day; it was visible in the lines on the elder Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys' faces, the way everyone hugged George just a little longer, gave Harry Potter a little extra space, ignored Ginny Potter's conspicuous early departure. But there were also smiles and kisses for the children just seen at Easter holiday, birthday wishes for Victoire, and good-natured rivalry about the upcoming Quidditch Cup.

This, Scorpius thought, watching the familiar chaos, _this_ was the best remembrance—living life.


	7. Neville Longbottom

_May 2, 2098_

Headmaster Neville Longbottom looked out over the crowd gathered beside the lake. The traditions for the Battle of Hogwarts Remembrance Ceremony had developed gradually those first few years but hadn't changed in decades. The memorial began at civil dawn, a precisely calculated event both Hermione and Ginny had tried to explain more than once before they all accepted Astronomy was not Neville's strong suit. Someone significant to the Battle or, in recent years, to current political events, was invited to be the keynote speaker; all the DA members had done it at least once. The Minister for Magic would say a few words ("few" being relative to the Minister in question; Neville remembered Percy Weasley's tenure as being particularly soporific); the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore's Army, and the Auror Department were recognized; and the ceremony ended with a reading of the names of the Fallen Fifty.

Many of the traditions centered around Hogwarts itself. As the site of the Battle and the Remembrance Ceremony, with its students and professors being the bulk of the defending force, it was impossible to separate the school from the event. In recognition of the students' pivotal role, the procession from the school to the lake was led by the Head Boy and Girl, followed by each of the houses in the order of the percentage of eligible students who had chosen to stay and fight: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. There had been some discussion among his staff the last few years of mixing up the order to remove Slytherin from its pejorative last place, first stopped by Padma pointing out the houses were already in alphabetical order and later by Neville's simple, "over my dead body."

He had supported Professor McGonagall's efforts as Headmistress to increase inter-house unity and eliminate what had become accepted discrimination against Slytherin House, but to change their role in the ceremony was to change the facts of the war, and Neville would not allow that. Too many people had suffered for that reality to be swept under the rug.

Here came the students now. Despite their permanent age as seventh-years, Neville couldn't help thinking the Head Boy and Girl seemed younger every year. He still remembered when they'd had to instigate having the procession led by someone other than the first-year Gryffindors: the first year there were no children who had been at school during the war, when the somber, orderly march had disintegrated into a chatty, meandering stroll. Neville had pulled the Head Boy, who happened to be a Gryffindor, to the front to ensure an orderly arrival and the practice had stuck.

This year's speaker was a rising star in the Wizengamot, a young woman—Neville squinted through his spectacles, trying to remember if he'd taught her in Herbology or already been Headmaster by that time; hmm, maybe not so young, then—mentored by Rose Weasley-Malfoy. He cast a practiced eye over the more than two thousand children in his care, marveling as he always did at the numerical impact of two wizarding wars in a single generation … his parents' generation. They were gone now, of course, as were all the professors he'd studied under and most of the Order of the Phoenix. Molly Weasley was the oldest surviving member, seated in a place of honor with her children and their spouses, the latest Weasley grandchild (Neville had long since lost track of the number of "greats" the family was on now) cradled in her arms. Ginny said her mother often no longer recognized them, mistaking the various boys for Arthur or her brothers, but she could always be trusted to look after a baby.

As Rose's protégé continued on about the importance of honorable service and community involvement in government, Neville's mind drifted back to the DA reunion Hannah and CeCe had hosted at the Leaky Cauldron last night. That was a tradition that just sort of "happened" too; with him, Ginny, Luna, and Lavender all still at Hogwarts that first year, there had been no formal gathering of the DA, but on the second anniversary Lavender had organized a get-together at the Leaky the night before the memorial. Unlike the end-of-summer party held at various Weasley-Potter homes that seemed to get bigger every year, the May first meeting was just the ones who had lived and fought at Hogwarts in '97-98. With no spouses, no kids, no Harry-Ron-Hermione … it was shrinking. While not yet old enough to die peacefully from age, illness and disease were starting to pick them off one by one. Just this last year, Michael Corner had finally succumbed to the long-term effects of torture and Ginny's blindness had become absolute.

Neville sighed, well-used to the melancholy thoughts that followed him on the second of May. Despite its victory, despite the decades of hard work and reform that truly had brought them to a place where the student population had exploded, where house-elves performed their work at the castle in view of their employers so the kids knew not everything was "magic," where magical creatures of all kinds gathered together to honor the significance of this day … despite all those successes, these early hours were always sad. The real celebration happened at breakfast.

The Breakfast Feast had also been an accident. Faced with several hundred grouchy students and a plethora of Ministry officials and honorees obviously reluctant to leave, Minerva had hastened back to the castle and persuaded the house elves to serve breakfast over an hour early, then invited everyone to the Great Hall. With such short notice, the first anniversary had not been a feast, but was welcomed nonetheless. Over the years it had developed into an early meal extravaganza complete with decorations and live music. Trial and error had reduced the guest list to the current Minister for Magic; the current Hogwarts Board of Governors; members of the DA, the Order, and the Aurors who had fought with them; anyone who spoke at the Remembrance Ceremony; the spouses and underage children of the same; and of course, all the current students, professors, and staff.

Once the DA's kids had started attending Hogwarts, their parents had naturally drifted to sit with them (or vice versa), and the Breakfast Feast had become the one occasion during the entire school year where house tables and loyalties did not exist. Yes, Neville thought, applauding with the rest of the crowd as the speaker took her seat, the Breakfast Feast was the best representation of what they'd all fought for. As Harry took the stage and everyone stood for the reading of the names of the Fallen Fifty, Neville straightened with pride. It had been a good hundred years, and he had helped make it so.

* * *

a/n: Once again, thanks to everyone who has read and especially to Arnel 63 for her efficient and helpful beta work! Mandy and I took Mother's Day off, but she (MandyinKC) will return tomorrow for the final chapter of _Reflections_. I've had a sneak preview-you won't be disappointed!


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